


What's Found at the End of the Tunnel

by ProPinkist



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Anton's depression romp through Folsense, Family, Folsense is just a very bad town for having depression lbr, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, aka my moody angst style in its Natural Habitat, and with the gas anything is possible!!, featuring random other Folsense npcs, fortunately granny riddleton is best grandma with all her puzzle children, high on Folsense gas and also unknowingly way older than 20, i like the idea of puzzles in the pl universe having sentience lol, this man is a wreck and needs a lot of hugs and sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProPinkist/pseuds/ProPinkist
Summary: Anton walks through Folsense's lonely night, in search of peace.
Relationships: Anton Herzen/Sophia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	What's Found at the End of the Tunnel

**Author's Note:**

> After /far/ too long, this is done. I struggled a lot with it, since I really wish there was a lot more information/scenes about Anton and the Herzens and Anton/Sophia in the game than there are, but I guess it turned out alright, despite being a bit repetitive and cliche. :^) I rewrote the very very end so many times and am still not totally satisfied with it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ but ah well
> 
> Diabolical Box is my favorite Layton game and probably always will be, and Anton just makes me < / 3 I love him so much ;; and thinking about all his years alone is just. pain. so I wanted to give him a little bit of happiness during that time. :') Also I know Granny Riddleton isn't in Folsense till Layton and Luke first arrive there, but I ignored that for this lol

“I’m going out, Nigel.”

“Sir…?”

No sooner had the butler spoken did the hooded figure pass by him, approaching the front entrance to the castle with nary a glance back. He wore a long, plain dark cloak, a far cry from his regular blue overcoat, and his short, quick steps were purposeful, echoing throughout the high ceilings of the foyer. Nigel raised an eyebrow, his voice betraying little as he continued. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

The other stopped short of the doors, giving no response. Silence reigned for the next few moments, as was practically all the castle knew now.

Nigel heard faint echoes of voices sometimes, though, always far opposite wherever he worked. Just earlier today had been one of those times.

Finally, he spoke again.

“…Very well. Please take care, Master.”

The hand on the door shook imperceptibly. Turning around, the figure’s face was all but completely shadowed, but just barely visible were the long, unkempt scraggles of blond, tucked back deep within the hood.

He slowly nodded, then pushed open the door, slipping through and exiting the castle without another word.

* * *

Anton shivered as soon as the cool night air hit him, pausing for a moment to revel in it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been outside. It had to have been ages, and there was no real reason he couldn’t have done so sooner, even with the necessary need to keep his true identity as a very much _not_ bloodthirsty monster unexposed. …Or, perhaps it had been more recently than he realized after all, and just couldn’t recall it. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

All he knew was that right now, he was threatening to explode, and had to get _out_.

The unstable wooden bridge did little to faze him as Anton crossed, almost daring to run, continuing onto the frozen lake with much the same pace. The temperature was hardly numbing, but the occasional chilly breeze nipped at his body, growing ever colder the faster he travelled as his cloak billowed out behind him, filling him with a fervor, making him feel _alive_. He could barely breathe inside that stifling, heavy place he still called his home _(and it was anyone’s guess why-oh-why he still did)_ , but out here was light and windy and _free_ , and again he thought it was such a wonder he hadn’t escaped long before now, for far beyond the castle there were no walls to trap him, none of the same memories, nothing to make him _think_ , over and over again; he could simply close his eyes and run and run and do nothing but **_exist_** until—

All too soon, though, the forest eventually ended. Bright lights assailed his vision despite the night, his hand coming up reflexively to block it, head swimming with dizziness as he tried to adjust. Finally, the burning somewhat subsided, and Anton opened his eyes warily, taking in the city street before him.

It was just like he remembered. No matter how muddled everything else became, he would always remember Folsense.

Taking a shaky breath, Anton wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, his adrenaline from earlier having faded. There was no denying that he would have to be careful, as Nigel had no doubt been trying to tell him – with the rumor and reputation of the castle flying about that was of his own design, a mysterious figure dressed as he was would definitely cause suspicion, even if it was a necessary alternative to his old “victims” possibly recognizing his face. Not to mention recognizing the face of, of course, their supposed current duke.

He hadn’t decided what he would do if he was caught… what he would do if and when they realized he was human, and what his true identity was; what he would say if they asked questions. Perhaps he would be attacked or robbed even without his identity known. Or perhaps be locked up, for safety, or as punishment.

Anton had little energy to care. Whatever happened, happened.

_(no matter where, he was alone, without her.)_

The only thing he wanted was to simply be.

* * *

It was a strange sensation, walking out here like this, after so long.

Everything looked the same, but also felt so very different, Anton thought. The dazzling colors and lights remained, not a single place unlit that he could see, hardly a sign of wear and tear… it was almost unnerving how immaculate everything appeared from what he knew. And that was exactly why it didn’t _feel_ right, despite how familiar it all looked… There were far fewer people around, he noticed, and it contrasted heavily against the town itself, only making his feeling of unease grow more.

So much had changed. _Everything_ had changed. But Folsense had hardly changed at all. It should have been nearly a ghost town, and yet the shining brightness of it all showed anything but.

_Or… maybe the only thing that’s changed so much is me._

_(maybe Folsense had found a way to survive anew, move on without him,_ despite _him, while he holed himself up in pitiful, foolish,_ pathetic _agony—)_

But he was a _vampire_ now, of course, Anton chuckled to himself mirthlessly, if only to distract from the heaviness in his steps. It was no wonder that the town be as vacant as it was, despite its continued beauty.

There was nothing more he could do for it now, besides protecting it from thieves with his scheme. The curse had taken so many lives and driven all those that didn’t perish far away, his father had drowned himself in it and greed, his brother had left him to fend for himself… and so had she. So had Sophia. She might have been able to save Folsense from its hellish predicament, smart as she was… but she was long since gone, and the town could never fully live again like it once had, whether any and all curses were real or not. Anton no longer had the strength to revive it… no longer had the strength for anything.

That seemed to be all that defined his life anymore: lack of strength. With each passing day, he grew more and more weak, more and more tired… tired in his body, in his soul, of everything; of this _life_ , if it could truly be called that anymore.

It was a wonder he could continuously keep up the act he played week after week, month after month, year after year _(?)_. But it seemed that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much he ran himself into the ground with insanity, something deigned to keep him attached to this place. Whether it was some hidden scrap of pride or sense of duty he still maintained, or a continued, fleeting hope that she would still one day return, no matter how foolish it was… Anton didn’t know anymore, not truly. But remain he shall, for Folsense’s sake, even if the townspeople would never know it.

It was the least he could do, after how much he had failed.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice pulled Anton out of his musings after a long while, and he stopped short, drawing in a deep breath as he glanced down at the little girl before him. She had short brown hair and looked to be about twelve, her hands behind her back and a pensive expression on her face as she stared up at him. “Never seen someone like you before. You don’t seem too good.”

Anton slowly blinked as the words registered, somewhat dumbfounded at the fact that her first thought was concern for his well-being, and not at all for his conspicuous, suspicious appearance. “…I’m fine.”

His voice came out hoarse, both from disuse, and from the shouting he had been doing earlier that day. It seemed like that was all he ever did anymore, when he wasn’t crying.

Swallowing thickly, he tried sound more convincing, unsuccessfully. “…Just a little tired.”

“Hmm…”

The girl approached him, humming to herself, and Anton reflexively shrunk back, holding his breath. She peered up towards his face thoughtfully for what felt like eons, even if it was only a few seconds.

Finally, she turned and plopped down onto the curbside near where he stood, letting out a sigh.

“Honestly, I’m tired too.”

Hesitating, he watched her, her head in one hand as she fiddled with her skirt with the other. “…My mom has been sick lately,” she murmured quietly, her expression unchanging. “I don’t think it’s too serious, just from overwork, but I’ve had to take over doing a lot of stuff… it’s all burnt both of us out even more.”

Instantly, Anton’s stomach _dropped_ , weakness claiming him even more as he drifted down to her side. Inside the cloak, he held his arms, shuddering, _screaming._

_After all this time, nothing has changed._

_(they were what he was supposed to be protecting. He was Duke, but for what? For_ this? _The cycle never ended, it continued on for everyone here, and yet the only one who could do anything about it was also the one who could do nothing at **all** —)_

“I’m Joanie, by the way.”

Again, her voice interrupted his spiral, causing him to tense as he slowly turned to glance at her. She was wearing a somewhat sad smile, still looking at him with interest, and not the least bit of suspicion. Anton turned away, waiting for his breathing calm before he replied. “…Nice to meet you.”

He was met with silence. It stayed that way for the next few minutes, as he sat with her, awkwardly, his mind a million miles away.

“…Watch out here in town, okay?” Joanie finally said, after enough time had passed. “There’s supposed to be a vampire here; I don’t believe it, but it’s true that a lot of people have gone missing and everyone is really scared… I don’t know who you are, but if you’re alone, be really careful.”

She looked down and continued to play with her clothes, seemingly oblivious to the impact of her words.

“…I’m sorry.”

If she heard the crack in his voice, she didn’t show it. Anton’s hand slowly reached out from hiding towards her own that lay on the curb, grasping it gently.

A moment later, he felt Joanie squeeze back.

It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand. Too long for him to even remember how long it was.

_(the last hand he had held was his father’s, dying. The last that had held his back was **her’s**.)_

“…T-Thank you.”

Anton sat there in silence, clutching her hand, his eyes burning and dancing with visions of another time.

* * *

“Can I help you with something?”

Anton stood in the entrance hall of the Folsense museum, the curator having noticed his arrival almost right away. His walk around the town had eventually led him here, a place he knew with certainty that he should stay away from… But his feet had brought him inside almost unconsciously, before he could stop himself. Now, the curator was staring at him quizzically, surely with suspicion, and he didn’t know how to answer.

This museum had been funded by his brother, Anton knew. It was the only other place besides the castle that would have any last, tangible traces of his family, and his love.

“Please… May I… look around?”

He knew how he looked. He knew it was the most dangerous _here_ , of all places. But he couldn’t hide the _yearning_ in his voice, despite his best efforts to do so.

_Please, let me see them… let me remember that they were_ real _._

The curator didn’t answer right away, continuing to stare at him with the same intensity that Joanie had, if not more so; it was almost as if his eyes were piercing through to his soul. Anton stood as straight as he could, holding his gaze, ready to accept the inevitable if it came.

Instead, the man’s expression finally softened, appearing slightly sad. “…Of course, anyone is welcome. My name is Grinko; please let me know if you need anything.”

Grinko gave a short nod, and then walked back out of sight, leaving him alone. Wilting in relief, Anton smiled as well, warmth filling his chest as he made his way forward.

The Herzens, it went without saying, had a long and storied history, and that was no more obvious than here, as he walked through relics of his life, and lives before him. Much of what the castle had contained had been lost to time, or by his own hand, but so much else was preserved here, some things even in almost pristine condition: dishes, silverware, vases and other ornamentation, clothing, furniture, various coats of arms, swords, tapestries, and of course, many paintings depicting a variety of subjects. So much of it Anton recognized, or tickled the back of his mind at almost-memories from when he was much younger, and it was a strange feeling, being surrounded by it all; like being wrapped in a comforting, familiar blanket, that simultaneously threatened to suffocate him. So much came flooding back, much of which he had forgotten, for better or for worse.

Everything was so close, so close that he could have reached out and _touched_ it. But the glass separated him, kept it all away, just as time did.

It was all dead and buried, and the only thing still left alive was him.

_(though he doubted that more and more with each passing day.)_

His father’s face stared down at him all throughout the museum, just as that cursed goat emblem did. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, as a scant few paintings of him still remained in the castle, but those endless eyes suffocated Anton most of all, judging _,_ _cursing,_ just as they always had when he was alive. How would he feel now, seeing what had become of him, of the _town,_ after the destruction he had wrought with that wretched gold? Now that he was every bit as helpless and distracted and single mindedly _useless_ as the man had always acted like he was?

Anton missed him, he was loathe to admit, _painfully_ so. He had sat with him as he was dying, being the only person in the world he still had left, even though they had barely spoken in the end, because as distant as they had been he was still his _father_ , because even if that mine and the ore within it had been a hell of his own making, something he had never pulled himself out of, he had still started it all with no other intention than to _help_ Folsense. The gold had driven him mad, and ruined them… but there was no denying that it had begun as something _good_.

He couldn’t hold onto hate for him, not anymore. Not when Anton hadn’t been able to save Folsense any more than the previous duke could.

Not when he, too, was now just as utterly broken as him.

_(obsessed with, threw all of his worth, his_ life, _upon something that should have always been there, until it wasn’t.)_

“Ah…!”

Tucked back away in a corner, in the midst of all the paintings of himself, his father, and his dear brother, was another painting, one that Anton had never seen before, or at least didn’t remember. There was only one figure in it, a young, tall, purple-haired woman, standing in a grassy field by herself, wearing a gorgeous yellow dress and a flat, ribboned hat. She held onto the hat with one hand, the flow of the wind evident in the painting, and her eyes were closed in a bright, serene smile, one that he could never forget in a million years, even if he ever wanted to.

“… _Sophia…”_

Vision blurring, his hand unconsciously reached out, until it hovered mere inches from the painting. It wasn’t the only picture of her he’d seen, far from it, but every other one he had was with them together, with her face captured at an angle. Now, she faced him in all her stunning, happy, _breathtaking_ beauty… so beautiful that she looked almost _real._

“Ah yes, the young Duke’s fiancée. Tragic that they never married.”

Anton gasped, withdrawing his hand quickly and turning to see Grinko standing beside him. The curator had his hands in his pockets, his somber gaze fixated on the painting, until he glanced in his direction, raising an eyebrow. “Did you know her?”

_Did I ever. I knew her more dearly than anyone I have ever known._

“…She was… a friend.”

He waited a few moments to reply, voice almost a whisper. Grinko nodded, looking back at Sophia. “Anton seemed very happy with her in the time they had together; they both seemed so content… Of course, rumors flew that she left because he broke her heart, but I don’t believe it; the Duke wouldn’t have done such a thing, as far as I could see. I can only imagine it was for her protection from the cursed darkness that befell Folsense… it is only a pity that he couldn’t join her.”

**_No._ **

Trembling, fists clenched within his cloak, Anton said nothing, resisting the urge to _vomit._

_It wasn’t anything so noble, nor even as dignified as disloyalty on his part: she was scared; for herself, and for nameless others he would never know, that were all more important to her, and so she up and left him lost and alone and without answers, in the_ worst _kind of **betrayal** there is…!_

_(because he_ couldn’t _protect her: because he wasn’t_ enough _, hadn’t_ done _enough; could only have been too needy and too broken and too **weak** —)_

“Then… Do you think… she hated him for not following?”

He didn’t know why he asked the question, when the curator’s hypothesis was so far from the truth. But the words escaped his lips before he had even realized it, as his eyes drowned in the painting, in her visage, in _her_.

“I can scarcely fathom it. Sophia seemed to truly love Anton with all her heart, and I know she would have understood why he had to remain in Folsense; of this, I am sure.”

Anton said nothing, holding back a sob, wishing with everything he had that that was _true._

_If she didn’t hate me, then why would she tell me **nothing**? Why would she give up on Folsense so easily, leave me for _another _, with no hope at all?!_

He would have contentedly let her go if he’d truly thought she was unsafe, if they had decided on it _together_. But Sophia hadn’t been reluctant at all, hadn’t _wanted him_ at all… She had left, and never looked back.

It filled him with rage.

_~~(at himself, more than anyone else)~~ _

“You seem to like that painting. Might I offer you this?”

The sound of Grinko’s voice pulled him back to the present, and Anton inhaled sharply, his palms stinging from where his nails had dug in. He realized that he had been standing there staring for quite some time, long enough for the other man to walk away and come back, and he squeezed his eyes shut, only turning around once he was sure he was composed. The curator’s face was blank as he watched him, and he held out what was in his hand towards him.

“We have these postcards as souvenirs… Of course, no one is coming here to buy them like they would a larger museum in a well-known town, so I don’t mind handing them out. Let me know if you want one of any of the other art, too; I might have it.”

Gaping, Anton stared at the little card, that was an exact photo of the portrait of Sophia. After a moment, he took it, holding it with all the delicate care he could muster as he pressed it to his chest. “…T-Thank you. It… means a lot to me.”

Grinko nodded, smiling softly. “It’s not a problem. You’re welcome to it, and welcome here.”

He watched the curator move to return to his office, warmth stirring in his heart once more, nearly forgetting that he was supposed to be in disguise. At the last second, Grinko turned back to him, something indecipherable in his eyes that Anton couldn’t possibly name.

“Take care, traveler. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

* * *

_It still looks so beautiful… Forever unchanging, as if nothing is wrong._

Anton gazed out the window at the view, standing in the watchtower near the edge of town. He had passed by it upon first entering Folsense, and it had piqued his curiosity — had he ever been there before? He couldn’t remember, unsurprisingly. But even though trash and clearly purposefully placed garlic flooded the building, it was empty for now at least, to his relief, and so he’d come to the top. The cloak was set to the side, and Anton brushed through his long, messy hair with his hands, letting it fly free, closing his eyes as he felt the wind on his face.

Despite everything, this was the calmest he’d felt in a while.

_I’m still here. Folsense is still here. It’s waiting patiently for her, just as I am._

He’d tried to tell himself as much before, over and over again, but it was easier with the city he remembered in plain sight before him, glittering and bright. Easier to believe that no matter how much time passed, eventually, someone, _something_ would change for the better… It _had_ to.

Right?

Clutching his shirt, Anton nodded to nobody, commanding his presence to an invisible audience. He was still the Duke, almost always had been and always would be, and that meant playing the vampire to keep the town safe. One day, his efforts would be rewarded; there was no reason to think otherwise.

One day, someone would come. All he had to do was wait long enough.

_(it was a nice lie, even if it all meant nothing again in a few hours, as the cycle went. But it was enough for now._

_Enough to ensure that the city wasn’t dying with him.)_

* * *

His aimless exploring around had been thankfully without incident so far, but it couldn’t have lasted forever.

“Oh _my_ , who might you be?”

Startled, Anton whirled around to see a young woman approaching him with alarming speed, a blur of blue dress framed by white fur, and fiery red hair. Her beauty was almost alluring, and her voice equally so. “Now _here’s_ the most interesting thing I’ve seen in a while…!”

She was leaning uncomfortably close, and Anton leaned back in turn, desperately trying to escape her gaze, to no avail. “If you’re hurting for food or cash, love, I’d be happy to bring you inside and warm you up…”

The woman slowly trailed off, her eyes widening as she stared up at his shadowed face. Frozen in place, heart pounding, he frantically tried to decide if it would be better to run away or stay; unable to determine if she appeared frightened of him, what she would do, if she _recognized him—_

He didn’t get a chance to make a decision, however.

“…Oh, what a _beauty_ you are…! _Yes_ , you’re coming with me, tee hee!”

Before Anton had even realized it, she had grabbed his arm and was pulling him in the direction of the nearby theater, with surprising force. The massive building was impossible to ignore, almost painfully so, the bright pink and blue lights standing out even more than Folsense’s permanent glow, and he cringed as it drew close, clumsily attempting to protest. He had only been there a few times before with Sophia (or had he? Suddenly he wasn’t sure; if only he could _remember—)_ , and it wasn’t the kind of place he was very fond of, _nor_ where he needed to be while trying to hide his identity — loud, crowded, and very much not at _all_ private.

Unfortunately, his pleas were ignored, and for some reason Anton felt too weak to break free.

“Shush, love!” the woman crooned as she all but dragged him through the door, her voice growing louder over the immediate noise that came. “You’ll feel much better after a round in here—!”

The raucous sound instantly hit him like a freight train, pervading every one of his senses to an overwhelming degree as he was pulled, half-falling, through scores and scores of people behind his kidnapper. Everywhere he looked, and heard, and _felt_ , there were lights and sounds and colors, intense smells and voices and music assaulting his eyes and ears and nose, and he barely registered when he finally stumbled to a stop and his hood was pulled off, an arm going around his back and a delicate hand guiding up his own, as an eager smile faced him. “Now, let’s dance!”

Numbly, Anton fell into the natural motion, even though it was far too fast-paced for what he was used to, as his mind desperately tried to signal to his body to _do something_ , the sheer _wrongness_ of it all urging him to break out of her grasp and _leave_. But for some reason he couldn’t move, couldn’t do _anything_ but follow the dance around and around, exactly as she wanted.

“Come on, lighten up a little and enjoy it!”

He had to get out of here, he had to _escape_.

“Let me… l-let me go… _ngh_ …”

His head was pounding, _killing_ him. The murmurs that came from his lips sounded as if they were a million miles away, as if they weren’t his own; everything felt underwater, confusing, _alien._

_Where am I? Who’s talking? What am I_ doing _?_

He wasn’t supposed to _be_ here.

He was supposed to be somewhere _else._ In the town, in the streets, in the parks, in the castle, without this person, without these _people,_ with someone **_else_** _—_

_(in the ballroom in the dining room near the fireplace in his chambers with_ her _, with So—)_

“Hey, are you okay…?”

—like being trapped in a _nightmare_ , an endless cacophony of noise and movements and sights and chaos that just wouldn’t _end_ , God let it **_end_** _;_ everything was spinning and blurring and mixing and crashing and he couldn’t see couldn’t think couldn’t **_breathe_** , there was so _much_ there was _too much_ why did he feel so **_tired_** why couldn’t he move why was he _here_ what was he _doing_ why was his skin _melting_ why was she so _old_ _why was she HERE she was **right there** he could see her he _needed _to see her he needed to hold her oh god he needed to apologize he **needed** ~~whywasshegonewhydidsheBETRAYwhywasn’theDEADwhenshehad **killedhim** —~~_

_“SOPHIA—!”_

_~~(the box was gone she was gone everyone was gone she was dead Folsense was dead **he** was dead and he ~~ _ ~~knew _he knew it_ all _he’d_ always _known—)_~~

_(…and everything went white.)_

* * *

He awoke slowly, wrapped in something soft, and warm.

“Oh, hello there, sonny! You’ve finally come around!”

Grunting, Anton squinted open his eyes, awareness returning to him, along with the dull throbbing in the back of his head. His body felt like it had run a marathon, as he shakily pushed himself upright, pressing a hand against his forehead, blankets falling off his shoulders.

“Where am I…?”

He had been dancing with Sophia, hadn’t he? Yes, he had been dancing with her and had suddenly felt sick—

_(no, no, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all—)_

“…the cabaret… that girl……” It all came flooding back in an instant, correcting his errant memories. “She’d… pulled me in, and then… _Sophia_ ……”

She had _been_ there, like so many times before. And just like those times, it hadn’t been real. It never was, no matter how much he wished it.

Wearily, still somewhat dazed, Anton looked around, observing his location. It appeared to be a tiny room in which he was lying on the floor, dust and moss adorning the corners and edges, clearly run-down. The room was empty aside from a bucket nearby catching some drops leaking from the ceiling, and, bizarrely, a small model shack that sat directly in the middle of the floor, almost as if the room was made to house it.

Aside from that, there was also the person currently coming towards him at full throttle.

“No, no, don’t sit up yet!”

An old woman appeared in front of him in a flash, her tone scolding as she pushed him back down to the floor, with surprising gentleness. Anton blinked, his confusion mounting even more as he watched her, wanting to protest and yet again failing. “You’ve been sleeping peacefully, but you were in rough shape! Don’t rush to get up.”

“Who are you…?”

He stared up from where he lay, something in the back of his mind realizing that his hood was off, and face exposed, but he couldn’t feel the urge to worry about it anymore. She had been taking care of him, it had seemed… She either didn’t know who he was, or it was too late.

He would find out soon enough.

“Me? Well I’m Granny Riddleton, of course!”

The strange woman laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She was on the larger side, wearing a pink blouse and dark blue skirt with lines across the bottom, and a witch’s hat, of all things. Her grin was wide and toothy, and it made him feel slightly uncomfortable, especially with the sparkle in her eye.

“…I’m afraid I’ve never seen you before,” Anton muttered.

Granny Riddleton gasped, feigning mock hurt. “What _have_ you been doing with your life then, sonny?! _Everyone_ knows Elizabeth Riddleton, master of puzzles!”

“Wasting away all alone in a hell too monstrous to call a home, fooling myself into believing that the people I once loved still give a damn.”

Silence followed.

He closed his eyes in frustration, listening to nothing, wishing he could simply go back to sleep, and return to the castle like always.

_Coming outside was a mistake. Something like this was bound to happen._

_(at least_ there _no one would question him, or judge him, aside from himself, and her illusions)_

“…I see.”

Unfortunately, he was still here. Sighing, Anton opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her to continue.

“That sounds like a rough time.”

_Putting it lightly._ He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I have no one to truly blame but myself.”

“Is that so?”

Again, there was no response. Anton fisted the blanket covering him tighter, his eyes burning as he bore a hole in the roof.

_Anymore, it is._

Perhaps at first, they all could have been blamed. His father. His brother. Sophia. For ruining them. For leaving them. For betraying him.

But not anymore. Now, it was all him.

_(the fool who still laughably tried to believe he was ever worth loving in the first place)_

“Hmm… What makes you so sure of that?”

_Why is she still talking?!_ Teeth gritting, he inhaled sharply. “…Because if no one wants to be with me after how _ungodly_ long I’ve been stuck in this hellhole, then I must have done something _unspeakably_ abhorrent, for them to hate me this much.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her all of this. She had no idea who he was… and even if she did, she _couldn’t_ know the full story. Yet something compelled him to answer her, something that was equal parts annoyance as well as something he couldn’t identify.

Perhaps it was simply exhaustion, a desire to tell _anyone_ who would listen. Better than venting to a wall, day in and day out, forever.

“And what did you do that was so awful?”

“…What?”

His gaze shifted over to the face peering down at him, the old woman suddenly sitting right beside him. Her expression was interested, and thoughtful, with none of the frivolity from before. “I said, what did you do? To send everyone away, to repulse them?”

Anton opened his mouth, not saying anything. It remained in an ‘o’ for a long while, as her words washed over him, _through_ him, his thoughts pulling him under.

_…Be unable to stop my father from… unknowingly starting a plague? Becoming a fake vampire? …Cursing the town…?_

He let out a gasp.

“…I… I-I don’t know.”

And something suddenly _broke_ inside of him. Chest aching, Anton covered his mouth with his hand, unexpected tears forming in his eyes.

“ _I_ … _don’t know…”_

His arm then reached up over his eyes, as he tried to stifle his sobs. There was a small sigh from nearby, and his body shivered, trembled terribly, as his own words rang in his ears, along with that _question_ , the question he had been asking himself every single day of his dark, wretched, _desperately_ lonely life, ever since that fated terrible moment she had walked out on him for another, leaving him alone:

_What had he_ done?

_(had he not praised her enough, hugged her enough, loved her enough? Had he humiliated her or disrespected or defiled her in a way that she had never made known? Did she not like the dresses he picked out for her, the necklace he had made for her, or something within the palace? Was his father’s initial disdain for her too much to let go of; did she resent him for the way the man had treated her? Had his brother ever said anything to her? Had the maids ever done something to her?_

_Did she resent him for the “curse”, for not doing something to stop it? Was she truly so frightened by it, so frightened that their love still wasn’t enough to overcome it?_

_Was he too affectionate or forward or presumptuous, too desperate to have her? Was he simply always unlovable from the start, and she had only entertained him for a while out of pity?_

_And if she had ever loved him so dearly at_ all _, then_ why _did he never know who in the world was even more important to her than him…?)_

“If you really don’t know, then I’d say there’s nothing you did wrong.”

The words only made him sob _harder_.

“And if you didn’t do anything wrong… Well then, there’s no reason for them to hate you at all.”

_But… But if that’s true, then **why** …?!_

_(it would have been easier if they_ did _hate him. If he_ had _done something so terrible, so unforgivable he could never forget it. At least then he would_ know _!_

_Know_ why _, instead of sitting and waiting and thinking and wondering and asking and reliving and regretting and hating and crying and screaming and clawing and cursing and_ praying _and_ begging _and **dying**_ — _)_

Anything _would be better than this._ Death _would be better than this…!_

“…w-why… why l-love me, then… why _leave me……”_

Anton was sitting up again now, folded over himself, sobbing, _breaking_ , not caring that he was exposed, not caring about whatever would soon come, because _it hurt so_ _much,_ and _none_ of it was new, and yet somehow hearing someone voice back to him everything he had always desperately tried to believe every day for all the past years _(tell him he was innocent, tell him he was_ loved _),_ was more than he could _bear._

_“I can’t_ take _it anymore!! I don’t understand, I want to_ know _, I want her **back** …!”_

He was so _tired_ of being selfless. So tired of being Duke for a town near-dead, that didn’t even know he existed; tired of being _alone_ , tired of still _believing,_ still **_hoping_** _._

_(so tired… so very, very tired.)_

Warm arms had wrapped around him, holding him in a gentle embrace. It had been so _unbearably_ long since he had felt such a gesture, and Anton clung to it, all thoughts towards his status forgotten, sobbing, _longing_.

“… _I miss her…”_

His voice was small, and hoarse, barely a whisper. Granny Riddleton only hummed quietly in response, her hand rubbing his back gently, soothingly.

It felt like Sophia’s hugs, but not quite. It was nice.

_(perhaps this was truly what having a mother felt like)_

After a long while, his cries died down. The old woman slowly let him go, and Anton allowed her to, exhaling shakily, as he attempted to dry his eyes. “…I-I’m sorry,” he stammered awkwardly, glancing down at his lap. “That was… unbecoming of me, and you don’t even know who I am… I j-just grew too lost in my thoughts, and lost my composure.”

Unbecoming or not, he spiraled in this way more often than he could name. But she didn’t need to know that.

“…T-Thank you, though.”

Heat rose in his cheeks, to Anton’s chagrin, but the warmth in his heart remained nonetheless.

“No need to apologize, sonny. I was the one who asked, after all!”

Her smile was cheerful again, though her eyes betrayed her sadness. She had previously left him unnerved, but now the sensation was all but gone, and in its place was comfort. Anton weakly smiled back, grateful.

“I have a feeling it will all work itself out somehow, though.”

“…Huh?”

Eyes widening, he watched her trot over to the mysterious little shack in the middle of the room, that he still couldn’t discern the purpose of. She began to rummage through it with one arm, muttering to herself, as he caught glimpses what appeared to be tiny glass bottles, though he had no idea what they contained. Finally, after a few moments, she apparently found what she was looking for, pulling something out too quickly for him to see.

“Life is like a puzzle, you know. Like this little one here.”

Confused, Anton stared at what Granny Riddleton held out towards him. It was a small box, the material he couldn’t identify, made up of many different colored squares scattered across it in a pattern, much like a chessboard. As she turned it back and forth in her hand, the squares moved back and forth as well, shifting and falling repeatedly. There was something intriguing about it, and though he wasn’t sure why, Anton reached out, taking it from her.

“A… puzzle…?”

As soon as he held it, he suddenly felt a soft tingling in his hand; an unexplainable, delicate tickle. His eyes widened upon gazing at the little box, at the way the edges of it seemed to buzz and shimmer with light and energy, a very faint voice emanating from it, almost as if it was _alive._

_I’ve truly gone insane, haven’t I?_

“Every puzzle has an answer, boy. No matter how difficult it may seem… a solution will always come eventually!”

Before Anton could ask _anything_ , now utterly dumbfounded, Granny Riddleton plucked the so-called puzzle out of his hand again, and began to fiddle with it, holding it up for him to see. Her finger moved blindingly fast over the small colored blocks, at such a dizzying speed that he could scarcely keep track, until she finally stopped, holding it closer. “See?”

Amazingly, what was originally a multicolored pattern was now a picture of a cat.

“Now, you try.”

She reached out and placed the box into his open palm once more, the warm, electric sensation returning. Bewildered, Anton slowly moved his gaze downwards, and was stunned to see that the image of the cat was gone, and that the colors had now returned to their original pattern, just as it had been before.

He looked back up at her expectantly, utterly _flabbergasted_ , hoping she would provide him answers. But all Granny Riddleton did was smile, nodding at him to continue, like patiently teaching a child.

_(it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. For the first time ever, feeling so young didn’t threaten to strangle him.)_

Taking a deep breath, willing his mind to clear, Anton eventually turned back to the box, feeling it, hearing it. It was unbelievable, _impossible,_ but somehow he could _swear_ that the little object seemed to cling to his hand, drawing itself to him, whispering to him, _speaking_ to him.

“It likes you,” Granny Riddleton said, as if reading his thoughts. “The puzzles know who the good ones are.”

_Good…?_

Inexplicably, _stupidly_ , his eyes grew hot again, and Anton blinked, feeling more foolish than ever. He had _definitely_ lost his mind for good, there was absolutely no doubt about it. And yet…

_…If I’m dreaming, I might as well follow it to the end, wherever it may lead. Even if I never wake up._

_(it would be a peaceful death, he thought, one that he would be more than fine with.)_

Gently, almost reverently, he began shifting the little colors around, the puzzle suddenly buzzing with excitement all the more.

It was surprising how easily he understood how it worked, and oddly pleasantly relaxing to move. And when he was finally done, Anton’s heart caught in his throat, a soft gasp escaping his lips as he realized what lay before him.

“This is…!”

The object had now turned yellow, and the image it showed was of a golden sun. But not just any sun… one that Anton had seen long ago, longer than he could even remember, that he had thought that he would never see again.

_The Elysian Box…!_

The box that he had had made for Sophia. The one that he had housed his letter to her in, ages ago, begging her to know how much he loved her, _pleading_ with her to come back. It was the sun design that was on it, part of the design that was the mechanism for opening the secret compartment and revealing the letter, that he had never received a reply for, and had grown certain he never would.

“…sun rises…… w-when you and I… meet…… when the w-wind blows……”

_…you will know my heart._

_(when he had first laid eyes on her, at the ball, truly, there had been no brighter sun.)_

_“……S-Sophia…”_

Tears cascaded down his cheeks once more, his cries silent as he gazed at the little miracle in his hands, an incomprehensible typhoon of emotions _flooding_ him: astonishment, confusion, heartbreak, and above all else, _awe._ There were so many questions, none of it made _sense…_ and yet, somehow, all Anton could focus on was the incredible happiness that swelled within him, as if, as ridiculous as it sounded, the object that he held was embracing him just as its owner had before.

“There, you see? I told you the answer would come. With everything, no matter how daunting it appears… the truth will always come to light.”

Granny Riddleton was smiling down at him ever-so-kindly, just as she had been all this time. Anton swallowed, choking back his tears, willing his voice to speak everything that lurked in the darkness of his heart:

“…But what if… I don’t believe it? What if… W-What if I _can’t_ believe it, because it _hurts_ … hurts so much to _hope,_ so much that I can b-barely _breathe…?”_

_(couldn’t keep lying to himself, hoping, and believing, and then crashing under the weight of it all, under the **loneliness** , in an endless cycle, over and over and over again.)_

“Don’t need to believe it, sonny! Your puzzle will be solved one way or another, whether you like it or not!”

Anton’s eyes widened at the immediate response, staring at her confident smirk. The words sounded _absurd_ on the surface… and yet, the more he thought about them, somehow, undeniably, everything seemed to fall into place.

_(just like a puzzle.)_

“That sounds… rather ominous.”

_The vampire will get what’s coming to him, but not at all in the way he expected._

And for the first time in forever, he found himself genuinely _laughing._

“…I like it, however.”

Hand brushing his tears dry, still chuckling, he lowered it to his lap, touching his magical little trinket that somehow knew everything dear to him, just as she did. “Thank you, truly,” Anton whispered, his smile warm and real and true. “I am grateful.”

Though he didn’t understand why, when she spoke, he could do none other than believe it. Even if he didn’t believe in himself… he could believe in _her._

In her truth.

_(he could still live, surely, simply knowing there was someone else to rely on, to be strong in his place.)_

“And you can come back here anytime you want,” Granny Riddleton continued chipperly, pulling something out of her pocket and holding it out towards him. “Either for the puzzles or for me, although I’d get a bit jealous if you only came for the puzzles, haha!”

Her hand held the postcard of the portrait of Sophia he had gotten earlier, and his eyes watered yet again upon seeing it, heart skipping a beat as he hurried to take it back. “This fell out of your pocket as I was getting you comfortable; I’m glad it didn’t get lost as Ilyana was bringing you here.”

Anton stared at the picture for a moment, then delicately pressed it to his lips in a kiss, his eyes closed as he continued to cry.

_“_ Thank you… _Thank you…”_

It felt so comforting, to be loved. To be seen, to be weak, and to be _protected._

_(to not be alone, for the first time in forever.)_

_Wait for me, Sophia. Wait for me to reach you, in whatever way that may be._

_To find the light of your sun once again._


End file.
